


we are people now (we've got to figure it out)

by whyyesitscar



Category: Firebringer - Team StarKid
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 08:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17762906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: zazzalil is restless in the aftermath of chorn.





	we are people now (we've got to figure it out)

**Author's Note:**

> leave it to me to get Too Deep about some prehistoric gays. anyway i watched almost every starkid musical (for the first time) over the last two weeks and i have lots of feelings, come [talk to me](http://itcameuponamidnightqueer.tumblr.com/) about them if you want to.
> 
> and above all, enjoy!

Zazzalil doesn’t sleep much in the time after Chorn.

She still has ideas but none of them really seem to turn into anything. The tribe needs a lot of work anyway; on one of her scouting missions, Emberley wrapped a leaf around her finger and it stayed there and now they spend a lot of the day tying knots. Tiblyn is really good at it. Her string of leaves is almost as long as she is.

Mostly Zazzalil is there to help Jemilla, who would collapse on the ground if she had to corral everyone in every task they do. They’re way busier than they used to be; the whole tribe does at least ten things a day now. Jemilla can’t monitor everyone by herself, so Zazzalil helps.

At night, if she’s not in charge of keeping the fire going, Zazzalil waits for Jemilla to go to sleep. She finds the long grass rope she keeps hidden behind a rock and ties knots until the fire goes out. The rope is so long now that it curls back in on itself, and Zazzalil has even untied it once or twice and started over. 

She doesn’t show her rope to the rest of the tribe, and certainly not to Jemilla. It’s a comfort to have one thing that belongs to her, something that she created by herself.

Remnants of Chorn’s vision linger but Zazzalil isn’t soothed by them like everyone else is. These memories of the future don’t sit well with her; it feels like they’re constantly ricocheting in her head, getting bigger and bouncier every time they cross paths.

Chorn’s vision gave the rest of the tribe dreams.

Zazzalil has knots.

/

Jemilla notices a few weeks later--at least, maybe more--because of course she does. They’ve turned their knots into huts and it’s Grant’s turn to watch the fire, which means that Emberley will stay up, too. Zazzalil can hear them laughing with Schwoopsie and Keeri. 

There are still bits of the sky that filter through the roof when Zazzalil looks up. She hasn’t gotten entirely used to that yet, sleeping more outside than in. It’s hard to calm down even if Snarl is dead, but it’s nice to sleep somewhere a little more private. Ducker can feel like he’s special again, and Zazzalil has a place to be quiet and vulnerable that only one person knows about.

“Go to bed soon; we have to hunt tomorrow!” Jemilla rolls her eyes as she ducks under the piece of fur they use to close the hut. 

Zazzalil folds her hands under her head and can’t stop a smile. “They won’t listen to you.”

“They listen to me sometimes.”

“Not after the sun goes down.”

“You listen to me.”

“Only after the sun goes down.”

Zazzalil dodges the stick that Jemilla throws. They’re both very used to it.

“Anyway,” Zazzalil continues, “let them stay up and I’ll go hunt tomorrow. We all know I’m the best at it.”

Jemilla lies down on her side, twisting on the ground until she finds the right spot. She ends up inches away from Zazzalil’s face, just like every other night.

“You can’t hunt tomorrow,” Jemilla says. 

“What? Yes, I can.” Zazzalil scoffs and watches the hair near Jemilla’s ears flutter. “I invented it and everything.”

“We hunt best when we’re rested,” Jemilla says as she brushes a piece of dirt from Zazzalil’s cheek, “and you definitely aren’t that.”

Zazzalil is ready with a witty retort but it doesn’t come. Jemilla is too open, too understanding for Zazzalil to ruin the moment. 

“I can’t stop thinking about Chorn,” she finally says.

Jemilla laughs softly. “Well, that’s encouraging.”

“They’re a lot, you know? I can’t stop thinking about it, about how much we know now. And we can’t do anything with it. It’s like, I keep having these memories of things that haven’t happened yet and I want to make them happen but I don’t know how.” Zazzalil turns her head to look at Jemilla. “Do you know how much it sucks to not know what to do?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“You saw all of it, too; doesn’t it just--” Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and she shakes them away. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Jemilla props her head up on one hand and reaches the other out, tangling her fingers with Zazzalil’s. “Maybe it might help if you told me about what you see.”

Zazzalil rolls her eyes. “Everything,” she huffs. “Buildings way bigger than our huts; people even older than Molag. Light that doesn’t come from the sun and colors I don’t even know how to describe. I saw so many _people_ , J. My head is full of them.”

“I know.”

“Things are gonna happen so far away from now and we won’t be there to help.”

Jemilla squeezes her hand. “Maybe we will.”

//

There’s a crack in the sidewalk, a really big one that looks like it could be the start of a fault. You look quickly in each direction before pulling out your utility knife and wriggling it in the opening, widening it until you can fit your fingers in. After twenty minutes, it’s deep enough to cover half of your hand if you lay it horizontally.

“I think that’s illegal, you know,” a voice says from above you.

“It’s public property.”

“That...doesn’t make it not illegal?”

“I think the city can handle a little busted cement.”

“Concrete.”

“What?” You look up, squinting against the afternoon sun. You can make out the silhouette of loose curls; with any luck, the person they’re attached to will be a pretty one.

“The sidewalk is concrete. Cement is the ingredient. Did you know that?”

You smile. The curls smile back. 

“No, I didn’t.”

.

She’s getting her pockets picked by every wayward kid on the street. The pouches hidden in the layers of her dress aren’t hidden that well after all and you can tell she doesn’t even feel when something is taken. You’re already late to meet your brother, but decency compels you to interfere.

You chase the latest urchin down a wet, dark alley. His friends see you coming but there’s nowhere for them to run. They’re dispatched quickly and you make sure the purses and treasures they relinquish are safe on your person before running back toward the main road.

She’s getting into a carriage on the other side of the street, and the crowd of people in between is so thick you have no chance of making it through. Prepared for every situation, you pluck a handkerchief from one pocket, your slingshot from another, and construct a very quick and crude package. The wind is blowing toward you and you’d miss her entirely if you fired at full force, so you pull the slingshot halfway back and angle it a little steeper.

The horses pull away just as it lands at her feet. You watch her open the package and then pat frantically at her sides.

She scans the crowd for a few moments before she sees you. “How did you do that?” she calls.

“Very skillfully!” you reply. 

You tip your hat, winking, and leave.

.

“Jemilla.”

“It should have worked, is all I’m saying. My math is right.”

“Jemilla.”

“I’ve worked on this for years; do you know how right I am about this math? I’m really right about it; I am _very_ right.”

“Jemillaaaaa…”

“What?”

“You’re definitely right. Absolutely, positively the rightest. You just misplaced a decimal.”

“What?” She stops pacing and buries her face in her papers, frantically searching for the miscalculation. “Oh. Okay, well, that’s fixed.”

You shrug. “Then you’re done. You did it.”

“I did?”

“You found Planet Nine,” you nod. “Humanity’s reach just got a little longer.”

“I can’t have just found it; scientists have been looking for this thing for over three hundred years. People who are way smarter than me couldn’t find it.”

“And all they needed was you to solve the last problem.”

She hasn’t kissed you yet but she will, after she cries and calls the dean. Her arms are long and warm and you’ll kiss her and get lost in them for a very long time.

You’re sure of it.

//

“Wanna know what I saw in Chorn’s vision?”

“What?”

“Buildings and tools made of rock just like your spear. Societies that depend on your fire.”

“It’s like you’re trying to tell me something, I just know it.”

Jemilla laughs. (Zazzalil has never heard a prettier sound.) “Chorn isn’t the only one who’s a lot, you know? Ducker calls you firebringer but I don’t think that’s right. Firestarter sounds better.” Zazzalil closes her eyes when Jemilla kisses her forehead. “Don’t worry about the future, Zazz. You’ll be there.”

The best part about huts is that Zazzalil can hug Jemilla for as long as she wants without someone interrupting them. She can scoot over so they’re all tangled and kiss her patiently, with intent and promise until her head doesn’t feel so crowded anymore.

There’s a lot of sharing in this tribe but Zazzalil is gonna do her best to make sure Jemilla has just the one wife.

“I was thinking,” she says after a long while, “that maybe we could do something else with all those mammoth furs we have.”

“Oh?”

“Well, everybody has huts now so we don’t need any more doors. But what if we slept underneath them?”

“Why?”

“Protection. Warmth. I don’t know, it was just an idea. We’d need to find some more mammoths though; we don’t have enough for everyone.”

Jemilla yawns for a long time before she speaks, sounding just as tired as Zazzalil feels. “Maybe you could do that tomorrow.”

“Okay.”


End file.
